


Evening the Score

by Saucery



Series: Hartwin Stories [5]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Bad Puns, Bathroom Sex, Bondage Fantasies, Breathplay, Cock Tease, Comedy, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Competition, Consciousness Play, Cross-Generation Relationship, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominance, EGGSY NO, Espionage, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fix-It, Flirting, Foot Jobs, Footsie, Formalwear, Humor, In Public, Jealousy, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Mission Fic, Molestation, NO EGGSY, Oral Sex, Porn, Possessive Behavior, Post-Canon, Post-Movie(s), Quickies, Romantic Comedy, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Seduction, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, Submission, Suit Porn, Suits, Teasing, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3597300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge footsie is apparently a thing.</p><p>Or, Eggsy seems to think molesting Harry in public is a fitting reaction to being ignored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evening the Score

* * *

 

Eggsy was bored. Terribly bored. He was seriously starting to consider getting up, dropping trou and mooning this entire glittering assemblage, just to see their horrified expressions.

What was even more infuriating was how obviously _not_ bored Harry was, seated across from Eggsy at the table, occupied with what he evidently felt was a fascinating discussion with a Polish heiress.

She wasn’t that interesting. She was all high-pitched giggles and fluttering eyelashes, and she kept playing with her pearls while staring at Harry’s mouth, and—

Harry was letting her. She wasn’t even the target of this mission. Harry didn’t have to be charming to that degree, did he? He hadn’t looked at Eggsy once, since they’d taken their seats. Like Eggsy didn’t exist. All right—arguably, they were supposed to be strangers, but there was no reason Harry couldn’t be having a conversation with Eggsy in addition to any other stranger at the table. Especially given that they were sitting opposite each other. It was… It was unrealistic, was what it was. It was unconvincing. Unnatural. Harry was doing a poor job of fitting in.

And Eggsy was _bored_ , damn it. The elderly gentleman next to him was already snoring in his cups, clearly either an alcoholic or a narcoleptic—or both—and on Eggsy’s left side sat a hawk-nosed matriarch whose rightwing Christian fundamentalism was making Eggsy’s ears bleed. She’d been going on and on about abstinence as the most reliable form of birth control, a philosophy that Eggsy was so virulently opposed to that he kept having to sip his pretentious glass of pretentious wine to keep from asking her when she’d last had an orgasm.

Maybe that was why Harry was ignoring him, to avoid being caught up in Miss Havisham’s tirade. He _did_ despise that sort of thing, as the “Hail Satan” incident had so impressed upon Eggsy. At least they had that in common.

The heiress leaned in towards Harry, crossing her arms with a false coyness that did nothing but emphasize her (admittedly generous) cleavage.

Sod it.

Eggsy turned to Miss Havisham and gave her the most dazzling smile in his repertoire.

She blinked, rant momentarily forgotten.

 _Take that, Harry. I’m as skilled at seducing women as you are. If not more so._ Hah. Exactly which one of them had boffed a Scandinavian princess? Up the arse, no less?

If Eggsy didn’t change this dowager empress’s opinion on sex by the end of the evening, he’d have failed in his civic duty. It was practically a moral imperative for him to get her to stop shaming people for their natural urges.

“I agree, madam,” Eggsy said, wide-eyed and earnest. “Dignity and restraint are such rare commodities, these days.”

Across the table, Harry coughed into his champagne. He’d been witness to Eggsy’s lack of dignity and restraint on multiple occasions, after all. Eggsy suppressed a grin.

“Why, it’s so reassuring to hear that today’s youth have such opinions,” said Miss Havisham, plainly taken aback.

Eggsy slid his shoe forward, under the table, until it nestled against Harry’s. To Lady Milligan (for that was her real name, despite Havisham suiting her better), he said: “Dear lady, I’ll be the first to admit that I require guidance.” He slipped his foot out of his Oxford, and inched his toes up to where the obscenely smooth leather of Harry’s own shoe met the fine wool of his Armani sock.

Harry didn’t so much as glance at Eggsy.

Oh, this was war.

“Guidance?” said Havisham, nonplussed.

“I’m so very young, you see.” Eggsy bit his lower lip. “So desperate for… instruction.”

Havisham’s eyes went round.

“The world around me is full of sin,” Eggsy said, his toes sneaking up Harry’s calf, finding the shape of the dagger strapped under the sleek fabric of those flannel trousers. Despite himself, Eggsy gave a minute shiver as he pressed his sole to the hilt, because he had always delighted in how dangerous Harry was, a tiger with its claws retracted, but perpetually poised for the kill. He’d seen Harry naked, too, all coiled muscle and aging scars, a tiger’s stripes that Eggsy had often caressed with his palms, awed by their silent power, their endless potential for movement both violent and carnal.

Christ. He’d become a poet. Harry genuinely _had_ rubbed off on him. Literally and metaphorically.

“I am surrounded by temptation,” continued Eggsy, allowing his other leg to fall ever-so-slightly against Miss Havisham’s, a line of pressure that was just subtle enough to be an innocent mistake. “I try to remember God, I do, but it’s so… hard, sometimes. I’m sure you understand.”

“I—” Miss Havisham’s drink stood neglected in front of her, as she patted her rapidly-warming cheeks with a napkin. “I don’t—”

“But you _do_ , don’t you, Lady Milligan? You have those lovely eyes, such a depthless blue, bluer by far than those sapphires you’re wearing. Many a young man must have fallen prey to them, and you must have devoted yourself to guiding them back onto the path of righteousness, driven to madness as they were by your beauty.”

There was a lull in the conversation between Harry and the heiress—perhaps because they were gaping at Eggsy incredulously, but Eggsy didn’t dare to peek in their direction, to discover whether or not Harry was gratified by his protégé making good on months of tutoring in accent and etiquette.

Instead, Eggsy simply glided his foot further upwards, along the strong, slowly tensing tendons of Harry’s thigh, and hoped that the darkening of his own eyes would convince Miss Havisham of the honesty of his desire.

“If you could guide me, in similar fashion, with those stern words and sterner hands—” Eggsy gazed longingly at her thin, wrinkled claws “—I would do my very best to… stand at attention, like your very own pet soldier, to obey your every order and fulfill your every wish.”

Poor Miss Havisham was having breathing difficulties. Eggsy worried briefly about the probability of giving her an aneurysm, aged as she was, but he was too focused on driving Harry to distraction to bother with the consequences of his flirtation. He intended for Harry to hear everything Eggsy was saying, and recognize that it was meant for him.

“I’ve…” Eggsy spoke in the tone of a confession, intimate and hushed, albeit not hushed enough to go unheard by curious eavesdroppers. “I’ve sinned, madam. Frequently. Shamefully. I have sacrificed my body on the altar of pleasure, and have let that pleasure heat my blood and flush my skin.”

“H-have you, now?” Miss Havisham said, trying to sound more condemning than breathless. “You must repent for your transgressions.”

“I do,” Eggsy said, as his toes finally found the bulge between Harry’s legs—a bulge that was tellingly, deliciously firm—and massaged it lightly, teasingly, until it swelled even further. “But that isn’t enough. I just—I yearn for someone of virtue to heal me with their touch, to purify the temple that I have desecrated over the years, with no regard for how precious it was. I merely want to experience what it is like to be unspoiled, again. I only…” Eggsy let his voice catch. “I only want to be saved.”

Eggsy took Havisham’s hand in his, demurely, and whispered: “Would you save me?”

And with that, Eggsy molded the arch of his foot to Harry’s erection, and _stroked_.

Harry set his glass down with more force than strictly necessary. The heiress jumped, startled.

“If you will excuse me, Agnieszka, I believe I need to refresh myself.” Harry gestured sheepishly at the dregs in his glass, as if he wasn’t perfectly capable of consuming ten times that alcohol and still hitting a target at fifty paces. “Too much champagne, I’m afraid.”

So saying, Harry disappeared, abandoning a forlorn heiress.

Eggsy beamed cheerfully, relinquished Miss Havisham’s hand, and rose. “The old chap did look alarmingly red around the gills. I should check up on him.”He bowed dashingly at Havisham, who was herself the color of a beetroot, and followed in Harry’s steps.

He strolled casually to the entrance of the chandelier-lit dining hall, weaving through the tables packed with dignitaries. He exited into the dim, portrait-lined corridor leading to the coatroom. There were two toilets, male and female, which he bypassed, because they might be occupied by guests. Recalling the blueprints he’d memorized, he climbed a short flight of stairs to the toilet generally reserved for staff.

He twisted the doorknob and entered, only to be thrown back against the door as it banged shut behind him.

“You little hellion,” Harry hissed. “Do you plan to blow our cover?”

Eggsy smirked. “I’d rather blow you.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Actually, I’m very, _very_ possible.”

“You reduced that terrifying harpy to a befuddled barn owl.”

“I learned from the best.”

Harry snorted. “I can dress you up in a dinner jacket and a bowtie, but you’re still a wanton creature underneath it all, aren’t you?”

“Would you like to see what’s underneath it all?” Eggsy asked, slyly.

“No time,” said Harry, brusquely, and he was right. They didn’t have the luxury to loiter. The awards ceremony was due to begin in twenty minutes, and their target would be giving the welcoming speech.

“I should make this quick, then.” Eggsy knelt before Harry, his knees on the gleaming tiles, and reached for Harry’s belt. “Someday, you’re going to wrap that belt around my neck and pull until it leaves bruises.”

Harry growled. “Someday, you’re going to mind your manners.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Eggsy unbuckled the belt and undid Harry’s zipper, nearly fumbling in his haste, suddenly thirsty to have Harry in him.

“This is the only way to shut you up, isn’t it?” Harry said, winding his fingers in Eggsy’s hair, yanking Eggsy’s head backward with none of his customary patience.

Eggsy grinned fiercely, sharp and hungry. “Don’t you know it.”

“Well, get to work.”

“Work? This is pure leisure.”

“There’s nothing pure about you. Not any longer.”

“And whose fault is that?” Eggsy bared Harry’s cock, and it swung free, heavy and dark and damp at the tip. Eggsy inhaled its scent, a rich, salty musk that Eggsy much preferred to Harry’s array of sophisticated colognes. Usually, Eggsy enjoyed prolonging this, licking and nuzzling for what seemed like hours, lazily lapping away at the pre-come that welled wax-like from Harry’s slit, tasting Harry to his heart’s content.

But today, he took Harry deep into his throat, swallowing him to the root in a single swoop.

Harry swayed, as though struck.

Eggsy closed his eyes as Harry filled him, the weight and the smell of it inexorable, all-encompassing. Harry tightened his grip on Eggsy’s hair, and the burn of that added to the burning of Eggsy’s lungs, a fire that made Eggsy’s own dick twitch and leak in his trousers.

Harry began fucking him, holding Eggsy still and rocking into him with steady, relentless thrusts. Eggsy immediately went lax, within and without, because Harry had taught him just this—how to give in and _take_ it, how to let himself be used, folded, bent over, fucked into again and again until something inside him broke open, leaving him quivering and defenseless, sobbing into the sheets.

Eggsy couldn’t even suck Harry off; Harry wasn’t permitting him any actions whatsoever, so all Eggsy could do was slurp loudly and helplessly around Harry’s cock, saliva dripping off his chin in syrupy strands, the back of his throat hot with friction and sore with a growing, worsening ache. Eggsy made no effort to breathe, because he liked that—liked surrendering to the blackness curling around his vision, liked teetering on the knife’s edge of consciousness. Harry was a storm battering against him, threatening to destroy him, and Eggsy loved it.

“Beautiful boy,” Harry rasped. His grasp gentled, releasing Eggsy’s hair to cup Eggsy’s jaw, and then he pulled out, shooting all over Eggsy’s eyelids and cheekbones and forehead, a shocking spatter that had Eggsy gasping, shuddering, coming in his pants. Untouched, just as Harry had trained him.

When Harry dragged him up, Eggsy went with it, sagging bonelessly against the door. Harry gathered up his come from Eggsy’s face using his fingers, carefully and thoroughly, before offering them to Eggsy to clean. Eggsy did so blindly, like an infant, cleaning them with unsteady, exhausted swipes of his tongue, until it was done, and Harry’s thumb was brushing Eggsy’s swollen lips, back and forth, back and forth, a deceptively lulling tenderness.

“You’re as sticky as if you’ve been dipped in honey,” Harry observed.

“Mm,” Eggsy said, because that was all he could manage. He was clammy and uncomfortable in his underwear, which he’d likely have to discard discreetly before returning to the hall, and he was overheated in his suit, all sweaty temples and sodden shirt.

“Stay there.” Harry vanished for an instant, only to reappear with a wet paper towel, wonderfully cool, with which he wiped Eggsy’s face. “You’ll still have to wash yourself,” he cautioned, and Eggsy struggled to open his eyes, bleary and loose-limbed as he was.

“Mm.”

“We have scarcely six minutes remaining before mission launch.” Harry tossed the towel into the bin and nudged Eggsy aside, just enough to squeeze past the door. “Don’t be late.”

And he was gone.

 _Bastard_ , Eggsy thought, hauling himself upright and surveying his debauched reflection in the bathroom mirror. _He always has to have the last word._

 

* * *

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Want updates and sneak previews? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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